


By The Dashboard Light

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-16
Updated: 2009-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, it feels like Lyle has an ability of his own, a power over Luke that scares him, and gets him so hard he can scarcely think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Dashboard Light

**Author's Note:**

> Luke is 17; Lyle is 16.

It's dark but early when Lyle parks the car. Luke's been talking non-stop since they pulled out of the drive, but Lyle's tuned him out, his attention caught instead by the way Luke nervously wipes his palms on the thighs of his new jeans, twists his fingers in the hem of that fancy, dark olive t-shirt Lyle's mom bought him to wear for when the raggedy things he owns aren't good enough. Lyle thinks it's cute that Luke's dressed up, thinks it's cute that Luke's unsure, because this is a date and Lyle doesn't think that Luke does dating.

By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they bypass the mall, skipping the movie they'd told his parents they were going to see, because they'd end up here in this unlit stretch of woods eventually anyway. Lyle shuts off the engine, pulled over under a tree; there are a few other cars dotted here and there, far enough away that Lyle can pretend that they're alone.

"Backseat," he says and it cuts through Luke's babble like a knife, interrupting him mid-sentence, mid-word even, and it should feel rude, but it doesn't. Luke gives him this grateful smile, darts out the door and circles to the back as Lyle takes a deep breath to calm his own shaking hands, because when they're like this, when they're alone, Luke _listens_ to him like no one else ever has before, his body thrumming taut with an eagerness to obey.

And, Lyle's never understood why abilities are such a big deal. He thinks they make you a freak and get you in trouble; he doesn't get why Luke and Claire seem so quietly proud of something they have to hide, but now, it feels like he has an ability of his own, a power over Luke that scares him, and gets him so hard he can scarcely think. It's his own secret super power that no one else can see, and when he looks in the rear view mirror, sees Luke sitting there, legs splayed wide in jeans tenting for Lyle, he thinks he finally understands how things can go too far, how Luke could kill a man with those microwaves that erupt from his palms, and how someone like Sylar could come into being.

He crawls between the seats, practically falls into Luke's lap, laughing with him as he bumps his head on the ceiling of the car. Their mouths are a breath apart, Lyle's fingers twisting in Luke's hair as Luke holds him tight by the hips, pulling him close until their groins rub together, dicks already half-hard with anticipation.

"Lyle, I…" Luke stutters but Lyle kisses the words away, groaning, "You look so hot," into his mouth.

Luke's head falls back, he rolls his eyes, and mutters, "No."

"Yes," Lyle insists, kissing him harder and hungrier, grinding up against him as he spits, "So fucking hot."

Luke shakes his head, tries to demur, say, "No," again, but Lyle's biting at his lips, won't let him get a word in edgewise until his chin tilts up, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, the pale column of his throat stretched and exposed.

"You too," Luke finally concedes, as Lyle pushes his t-shirt up, soft, pale belly as bare to him as the line of his throat. Lyle drags his nails through the fine hair below Luke's navel, scratches at the quivering skin below, not hard enough to leave a mark, but rough enough to sting. And there's something dark and dangerous, winding hot and tense in Lyle's core, something that makes his dick get harder with every whimpered sigh he makes Luke make.

He tugs at Luke's hair, groaning as Luke's head falls willingly back further, 'though the angle, by now, has to hurt, and he nips his way under Luke's chin, down that pale skin that bruises purple where Lyle's been. And when he presses his open mouth to Luke's pulse point, teeth biting into his delicate throat just deep enough to threaten, Luke makes this tiny sound of fear, but stretches his neck yet further, submitting to it all. But Lyle doesn't give in to his confusing desire to hurt, although Luke would let him; he presses his tongue to Luke's skin, feels the hot, warm pulse of blood in his veins and sucks a tender kiss there instead.

In a frantic, breathless rush, Luke blurts, "I love you."

And then, it doesn't matter that Luke's three months older, that he's taller and broader, sucked, fucked and been fucked while Lyle's so much a virgin that his first kiss with Luke was his first kiss ever. In that moment, Luke's voice sounds so strained, it's as if he's in pain and Lyle wants to fold himself around him, and keep Luke safe.

"I love you," he pleads again with aching desperation, and for all Luke likes to play at being badass, Lyle thinks he loves too easily. He's given away his heart so many times to so many people who haven't deserved him, cruel people, dangerous people, people like his deadbeat dad and Sylar, who've only left him bruised and broken. And now, it feels as if he's offering Lyle that last remaining shattered piece, and Lyle _wants_ so badly that he's terrified he'll hold too tight or push too far, be so overwhelmed by that fierce constricting heat and tightness in his chest that he'll clumsily destroy this delicate thing Luke's trusted to him.

Lyle presses his palm above Luke's left nipple, splays his fingers over that narrow, hairless chest, and in a slow, deliberate voice, he promises, "I love you too."

And with his words, it's as if something has broken deep inside him, too, because he's curling into Luke as needily as Luke's arching up into him and their kiss is a clashing, tearing, mash of lips and teeth. Frenetic hands grope everywhere; Lyle can feel Luke clawing at his back, grabbing at his hips and ass and upper thighs. He slides his hands up Luke's chest, pushing that fancy t-shirt higher until it's bunched tightly under Luke's arms, a dusting of dark chestnut hair just peeking out from under the fabric. He braces himself on Luke's shoulders, leans in closer as his thumbs notch to the dips of Luke's clavicles, and he grinds his dick to Luke's dick.

In the too-small space of the car, Lyle's heavy breathing echoes like the soundtrack to a cheap porno. Luke's head tips back with a tortured groan of pleasure, wet, kiss-reddened lips parted so sweetly that Lyle wants to ram his cock deep down Luke's throat and fuck that pretty mouth until it's stained a slick, sticky white. And in the glass of the car's rear window, Lyle can see his own eyes reflected back, so dark with lust they look as pitch black as the starless night around them.

He ducks his head, nose crushed to Luke's firm chest, lips latching the puffy rose-pink of his left nipple, lapping with the flat of his tongue over the hardened point; Luke whimpers at the most tender kiss, keens when Lyle's teeth skid over his sensitive skin. Beneath Lyle, he squirms and bucks, wriggles out of his t-shirt so feverishly that Lyle's hands slide down his chest, over the flexing muscle of his soft stomach and pin his hips to the seat below to hold him still. Then, Lyle's fingers curl under the waistband of his neatly pressed jeans, drag along the ticklish, fluttering flesh of his lower belly until both hands frame Luke's fly, the tips of his thumbs teasing at the denim-covered outline of his cock.

Lyle looks up at Luke, licks his lips at the flushed skin of his chest and neck, at the redness of his cheeks and his mussed hair. They kiss again, as careful as before was frenzied, Lyle's tongue slipping lovingly between Luke's lips. Low, low in his gut, at the base of his cock, and behind his sac, Lyle can feel a throbbing sense of anticipation that's growing, blue balls but sweeter, a need that's being held back, but with the promise of relief so close that he can taste it in the chlorine-tart scent of Luke's arousal.

And though his body is quaking with the strain, Lyle holds Luke's gaze as he presses the pad of his thumb to the flat copper round of the button his jeans and asks, "Okay?"

Luke's chin tilts and he parts his mouth to beg another kiss; Lyle sucks that pouting bottom lip between his gently and into his skin, Luke murmurs, "Yeah."

Lyle leaves his forehead pressed to Luke's, their lips so close that they're breathing in each other's gasping pants, and through his downturned lashes, Lyle watches his own fingers fumble to pop the button on Luke's fly. He tugs Luke's zipper down; the backs of his knuckles feel burning hot where they brush against Luke's erection, straining the thin cotton of his boxers. And though he's made Luke come before, rubbing up against him, an eager thigh pressed up and firm between his legs until there's wetness that stains the front of both their jeans, this is new and this is different, and he doesn't want to rush it.

He hooks a finger in the waistband of those ratty boxers, tugs out until Luke's cock springs up, straining tight to his belly; Luke's sigh of relief mirrors Lyle's hungry groan. Lyle shifts his weight, digs his knees into the seat on either side of Luke's lap, lifting his ass enough for Luke to shuffle his clothes down to his knees. Then, he's sitting again, his denim-clad thighs in a protective arc that frames Luke's groin, and between their bodies, the shadows are coal-black and thick like oil, too deep for Lyle to see through. So, he twists at an awkward angle and reaches out, aiming for the overhead light, but as he leans back, Luke catches his wrist desperately and yanks him close again.

"_Lyle_," he cries, voice so uncertain, it strips Lyle raw to hear it.

"I'm here." Lyle swivels his hand in Luke's grasp so that he can circle his fingers 'round Luke's wrist, too, pressing them together palm to palm, and it's holding hands but more secure, clutching, clinging, holding fast enough to hurt.

"I wanna see you," Lyle begs. Luke's breath is warm on his neck, and Lyle shivers at the nip of teeth on the lobe of his ear.

"Yes," Luke pants.

Two searching fingers find the tiny switch, the dull yellow light flickering on; Luke has his eyes scrunched shut, 'though the light's not bright enough to blind him, and Lyle swallows down the plaintive sounds he's making. He peppers butterfly kisses around Luke's mouth, lips brushing over the swell of his cheeks, tongue darting into the cleft of his chin, laughing softly and pulling away as Luke turns his head blindly and tries to catch his mouth with his. And then, Luke's laughing shyly, too, and his eyelids flutter open, deep brown eyes wary as Lyle peers keenly into the newly bright space between them. Lyle squeezes Luke's wrist where he still holds it, squeezing until Luke squeezes back and in between the reassuring kisses they trade, Lyle says, "I love you," just as surely as he had before, shushing Luke as shudders against him.

He sucks in a breath as he stares, sees those scars he doesn't like to linger on because they make him angry. Looks down lower, hands following the path of his gaze until his fingertips are drawing restless patterns in Luke's auburn pubic hair. And Lyle thinks the sight of Luke's cock, first time seen after so many nights felt, shouldn't make it so hard to breathe or so impossible to think. It's not so different from his own, thicker maybe, about as long, the tip glossy with pre-come, already, where Lyle's only gets that slick when he's moments from coming. And suddenly, Lyle wants to _touch_ so badly that it feels that every second he's not, he's dying a thousand little deaths inside. He curls a hand around Luke's shaft, presses his thumb to that so familiar vein and strokes.

And the only sounds he hears are his own groans and whines and whimpers. Luke's stomach is tense and his body is rigid; Lyle twists his fist carefully around Luke's tip, slippery-slick pre-come easing the way, but Luke only sighs a barely there puff of breath. And the quiet's too quiet, because Luke's never still, never silent. Lyle's touch stutters and he loses his rhythm, chews the inside of his cheek as he glances up in trepidation.

Luke's eyes are fever bright and his jaw is clenching; he looks so turned on, Lyle thinks he's afraid to even breathe.

"Don't stop." He circles his hand around Lyle's, fingers interlacing with his on his cock and they pump his dick together. "S'good."

Lyle closes his fist a little tighter, pulls a little firmer, following the pace that Luke is setting, and the sound Luke makes, now, is more like a moan, his hips inching off the leather seat to piston his dick harder through Lyle's fist. Lyle improvises a little, traces spirals on that spot just below the head, teases Luke with feather-light touches there before rubbing hard. Luke gasps and keens, clutches painfully to Lyle's hip to drag him nearer, gulping down great heaving breaths as he pants Lyle's name.

"_Yeah_," Lyle groans, leans in close, presses sloppy open-mouth kisses up along Luke's jaw. He nuzzles his lips against Luke's ear, hoarsely whispers, "I think about you when I touch myself like this."

"_Fuck_!" Luke spits through gritted teeth, fingers tangling tighter with Lyle's, trying to speed them up, ass slapping on the leather of the seats as he fucks their hands. "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Fucking, yeah. Fucking you, fucking your mouth," Lyle babbles and he hardly knows what he's saying, an endless stream of filthy words, voice thick and coarse, as he hisses into Luke's ear every fantasy he's ever come to, late at night. "Wanna put my dick inside your mouth so badly. Want you to suck it."

Luke's swearing and grunting and panting, "_Yes_," and writhing against Lyle so wildly that the backs of their knuckles are pressing against the bulge in Lyle's jeans, and it feels so good, it's starting to hurt. Luke leans forward, bites at his collarbone through his shirt, teeth blunted by the cotton that's soaking through with his spit and Lyle wants a moment to rip off his clothes, so that they're skin to skin and Luke can leave a bruise, mark Lyle his, but Luke's so close, it seems to cruel to stop.

So, he closes his fist tighter, so tight that Luke's eyes roll back and he knows that Luke's fighting on that knife-edge of saying, "Stop!" and screaming, "More!" because it hurts but hurts so good when Lyle does this to himself. He yanks his hand up sharply, presses his mouth to Luke's; Luke so far gone he doesn't seem capable of kissing back. Lyle _fucks_ his tongue in and out of that pretty, pliant mouth, fucks it hard like he wants to do with his cock. And when he jacks Luke hard and tight and so rough, the slide between their skin feels like burning, Luke thrusts aggressively, groans around Lyle's tongue and comes in hot, thick spurts that splatter over his chest all the way up to his chin.

And then, Luke's laughing softly, like he always does when he comes down, and his forehead is lolling on Lyle's shoulder. Lyle strokes him down, keeps fondling his softening dick until Luke squeals, yelping and laughing harder, swatting his hand away. Lyle's laughing too, breathless with pent up excitement, his thumb smearing through the semen that's cooling under Luke's chin.

"Fuck, dude," Luke pants when he can speak again, looking at him with something like awe.

He takes Lyle's sticky hand, brings it to his mouth, and Lyle doesn't know why his cock fucking _jumps_ when Luke starts to lick him clean, because that's Luke's own spunk he's lapping up and there's a part of him that thinks it's gross, a bigger part that seems to think the grossness of it maybe makes it hotter.

Then, Luke's jaw goes slack and Lyle's spit slick fingers fall from his lips. He stares at Lyle intently, all laughter gone, and growls, "Do it."

"What? No, wait…" Lyle says, because his mind is reeling and if it's possible for him to get harder, he has. But a fantasy is just a fantasy and he doesn't really want to hurt Luke, hates the people who have, or maybe he does, and that scares him, because Luke's hauling him up by the hips and Lyle's letting him, contorting his body painfully in the too small backseat so Luke can tear his fly open, yank his dick out through the gap.

And when Luke looks up at him, one hand curled loosely around his cock, plump, wet lips close enough that Lyle can feel his breath on his too-hot skin, and murmurs, "S'okay. Do it," Lyle twists his fingers roughly in Luke's hair and shoves his head down between his legs.

Then, Luke's mouth is sliding down his dick, hot and wet and so fucking tight as he sucks, that Lyle feels hollow inside, and though he doesn't mean to, his hips snap forward, hard enough that Luke groans, swallows roughly to keep from gagging as Lyle's fingers pull and yank his hair without conscious thought.

"Sorry!" Lyle moans, tries to pull back because Luke's nose is crushed to his pelvic crest and his chin must be catching on the open metal teeth of his fly. His own throat aches in sympathy, but Luke only cups his ass, forces him nearer, deeper into his mouth. Spit dribbles wetly from the corners of Luke's lips and when he swallows, his tongue presses up firm to Lyle's dick, massaging it as his throat contracts around the tip.

And Lyle's fucking his mouth as gently as he can, nails raking over his scalp to ground him as his hips twitch and he draws back, thrusts in, over and over and over, until his thighs are quaking and his whole body aches with the need to come. Luke swallows again and again, hums something Lyle can't quite hear because vibrations are rumbling through his dick and then, his own hoarse shouts as he comes are the only sounds he can hear.

He collapses into Luke's lap, completely spent, bruising and bumping his hips and elbows on every part of the car as he tries to move his boneless limbs. Luke's there to hold him steady, face flushed, lips looking raw and painful, chin glistening with spit and come he didn't quite gulp down. But he's grinning too, licking his lips like the Cheshire Cat, and Lyle doesn't think he understands that or what they've done. He wraps his arms weakly around Luke's neck, whimpers, "Sorry. I'm so sorry," burying his face in the soft, warm skin of Luke's neck.

They're still mostly dressed, soiled clothes twisting around them, Lyle's now-flaccid cock hanging out of his jeans; Luke twists them 'round, lies them down, arms and legs intertwined. The backseat is too narrow for this, too short, but they cling to each other and make it work. Luke shushes him with those red-raw lips pressed to his ear. "S'okay," he promises fitfully. "S'okay. S'good."

But Lyle doesn't think it is. He wails, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," Luke insists, but when Lyle runs his thumb over Luke's bruised bottom lip, he winces, conceding, "A little. But I wanted it."

Lyle wants to ask, "_How_?" How, after all that's Luke's been through, all the silvery-white scars that criss-cross his skin, all the times that he's been kicked when he's down, how can he want more pain, but Luke's kissing him gently, mumbling, "It's okay," as he tucks Lyle's dick away, zips him and straightens his shirt.

"Everything's okay," he says, drawing back to pull his own t-shirt on once more, and then he's covering Lyle's body with his, a safe, warm weight that Lyle pulls closer.

In his ear, Luke murmurs, "I love you," and Lyle thinks that maybe, everything is okay, after all.


End file.
